Not With You
by MusicSavesMe711
Summary: Reid is kidnapped... Again. The team has to get him back, but they won't take chances- not with him at stake. One-shot T for violence. Can be ReidxHotch but not really written for that specifically.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Just a notice to my readers. I'm no longer updating regularly. I'll update when I update, but I'm really not interested in writing about LOTR or Harry Potter anymore. I am still working on The Moore Identity but don't expect regular updates. I'm currently focusing on other stories I'm writing and I'll publish those at a later date. This is something I wrote in math class and figured I should upload to hopefully assuage some of my readers and convince them that I haven't died. I'm really sorry, guys!  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. If I did, it would be painfully obvious because it would revolve entirely around Reid and his awesomeness. And there would be yaoi ;)**

When Spencer Reid first awoke, he felt himself panicking. He wasn't in his bed, his gun was missing, and his wrists were tied together around a pole behind his back. The fingers on his left hand burned in pain.

"Fuck," he let out a rare curse. His memories were fuzzy at best, but they were returning as he sat and he was not thrilled with the information they gave him. He had been kidnapped.

Again.

This time, the culprit was George Foyet, who was still a fugitive and still trying to torture Hotch. He had been waiting for Spencer in his apartment when he got home, and the invasion had been so similar to Hotch's experience he knew it had been set up that way on purpose.

%(*FLASHBACK*)%

Spencer pushed open the door to his apartment and knew immediately something was not right. There was a light coming from under the door to his bedroom where he was sure he'd left no light that morning. Drawing his gun, he crept forwards to investigate. However, just as he was about to push open the door, a dark shape leapt out of the shadows and tackled him to the ground, knocking his gun out of his hand and his phone out of his pocket. As he reached for one or the other, an elbow came down hard on his fingers, making him wince as he felt at least one of them break. He was trying not to show weakness to whoever his attack was; most likely it would only encourage him.

"Your boss should have made a deal," his attacker taunted, aiming a gun at his forehead. Spencer sighed internally, schooling his countenance into a neutral expression.

"No, he was right to refuse you. Foyet, you're just another monster of the job, another criminal our team is going to catch and put away." He knew the man was Foyet when he spoke of the deal he'd offered to Hotch. His life really enjoyed finding cruel new ways to torture him.

"You'll change your mind before I'm done with you," Foyet promised in a growl, taking out a knife and holding it before Spencer's eyes. Then without warning, he slammed it into Spencer's side. His breath came out in a strangled gasp of pain, and then he began chuckling. Foyet wouldn't show it, but he was somewhat unnerved by Spencer's reaction- usually, his victims screamed; some, like Hotch, pretended they were completely unafraid. Laughter was a new one.

"I've been through much worse than you'll do to me, Foyet," Spencer rasped, hissing as Foyet drove the knife deeper into his side in sudden anger.

"You'll never meet worse than me," he raged. Spencer shrugged, weak but indifferent. He was losing a lot of blood; the knife was buried hilt deep. In anger at Spencer's continued apathy, Foyet whirled around and put a bullet through Spencer's television, which was mostly there for show and the use of the History and Discovery channels anyway. The sound of shattering glass wasn't likely enough to alert any of his neighbors, who knew of his clumsiness, but the sound of a gunshot coming from the apartment of an FBI agent would surely attract attention.

"You wouldn't do the same thing to me as you did to Hotch. It's too repetitive for you. So," Spencer quipped, "Are you going to kill me?" he locked eyes with Foyet from where he lay, helpless and bleeding. Foyet smirked.

"I might," he said casually. "But that all depends on your team; it all depends on Hotchner."

"Okay, so I was right, you're still only doing this to get to Hotch. Tell me something, Foyet; what makes you think they'll care?" Foyet wasn't prepared for that suggestion.

"I've done my homework. Your team sticks together. You're all a disgusting little family. One whiff of danger, and they'll all come running like a mangy pack of rabid dogs," he countered. Spencer smiled sadly and shook his head.

"That's the way they are with each other, and I'd do anything for them, but you've picked the wrong agent if you want to get to Hotch. I'm nothing more than a walking encyclopedia to the team; they don't even introduce me with the rest of them. They don't trust me the way they do each other. I'm not a part of that family."

"Aw, does the young doctor have low self-esteem?" Foyet taunted. "I don't believe you."

"I'm sure they all hate me by now," Spencer continued, feigning nonchalance. "I've gotten myself kidnapped, shot, infected with anthrax… Emily and I were held hostage and she got beat up because of me. Derek betrayed my trust to Hotch and Gideon, who, by the way, abandoned me to leave the BAU with no explanation. I annoyed Rossi constantly about his books, which I'm sure he got enough of before returning to the BAU…"

"What about Hotchner?" Foyet cut in gleefully. He was enjoying Spencer's pain. "You haven't mentioned him yet."

"Hotch has _almost_ fired me more times than I can count, and he once kicked me so hard he fractured my rib- not that I'd give him the satisfaction of telling him that." When Spencer stopped talking, Foyet was laughing.

"If they don't know you know all of that, they'll come. And _Hotchner_ wouldn't want any more blood on his hands." Still chuckling darkly, he yanked Spencer to his feet and tied his hands behind him. "Maybe you'll be more entertaining company than he was." Spencer snorted.

"I'm terrible company when I'm _not_ bleeding." Foyet rolled his eyes.

"Shut up or I'll have to knock you out," he threatened.

"You wouldn't want to do that either," Spencer disagreed. If you knock me out, there's less chance to try to torture me."

"The torture begins once you wake up again," Foyet replied, taking a needle out of his pocket and injecting Spencer before he could react. Spencer only had enough time to wonder what exactly he'd been given before the room spun sickeningly and everything went black.

%(*PRESENT TIME*)%

Fully awake now, Spencer surveyed his surroundings. What he had assumed in his half-conscious state to be a pole he was tied to turned out to be the wooden slats of a chair he'd been placed in. He was in a basement of some sort, supported by wooden rafters. The floor was dirt. Spencer's heart skipped a beat as he saw a computer system and webcam directly in front of him. There were shelves displaying various tools on two of the four walls. In one of these shelves, there was a half-opened drawer. Spencer could see what was inside, and he felt sick at the once familiar sight.

'Oh no. Oh… shit,' he thought. The panic was rising in him again.

The drawer was filled with vials of clear liquid and syringes.

Chuckling emanated through the room as Foyet entered the room from a door behind him.

"Do you like the set up?" he asked rhetorically. He knew about Hankel, and Spencer didn't know _how_ he knew, but he did. "I think it's time to say hello to our friend Garcia. She'll be wondering where you are, work started fifteen minutes ago and you're never late." As he spoke, he made his way to the computer and switched it on. He was standing between Spencer and the screen, so Spencer didn't see what he was doing, but after some time he heard Garcia's cry of surprise, and that of three others.

"Foyet!" Garcia exclaimed.

"Hotch! Rossi!" Morgan called. Two sets of feet came closer to the speakers.

"Well, looks like _almost_ everyone's there. Hello, Hotchner. I believe I have something you're missing," he said conversationally, stepping aside. Spencer could now see his team on the screen, and they could see him.

"Reid!" Garcia's voice.

"Spence," J.J. could barely speak, a hand coming up to cover her mouth in shock. The others seemed to freeze in their own horrified surprise. Before Spencer could speak, Foyet stepped back in front of the webcam.

"Hotchner, I notice you're not saying anything. Do you not care that I've got you agent? Your random fact generator? That I can do anything I want to him while you can do nothing but watch? Maybe I should break one of his ribs; Hotchner, you can relate to that, no?" Foyet chuckled. Spencer let out a silent sigh- his attempts to convince Foyet his team didn't care had backfired entirely.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I forgot, he never told you. I'll leave you alone to discuss that. I have some… _things_ to take care of," Foyet spoke, exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

"Reid, what does Foyet know that we don't? And are you hurt badly?" Hotch questioned.

"He knows a lot that you don't such as our location. And I'm not hurt at all, except for a few broken fingers on my left hand from the initial struggle and a stab wound in my side that's probably not fatal," Spencer replied, evading Hotch's question about his rib.

"I'm glad to hear you're okay Reid, but when did you ever break any ribs? And what happened, how did he get you?" Hotch persisted. Reid continued to avoid answering the original question.

"He's just doing this to get to you; he was waiting in my apartment when I got home. He stabbed me, did a lot of talking. I pissed him off by laughing at him, so he shot my television which I suppose means I won't get to watch that documentary on World War II I was recording. He drugged me, with what exactly I don't know, and I woke up here a few minutes ago. I don't see anything defining about this place, but the gun he had was the same model that Tobias Hankel had, and I can see needles and vials in a drawer. He could be mimicking what he did to make me squirm to try and get a reaction from you." Hotch held his gaze, but the rest of the team exchanged worried looks, remembering the Dilaudid addiction he'd struggled with but wouldn't admit to having.

"Reid, we're going to get you out of there, but _what happened to your ribs_?"

"Philip Dowd," Reid blurted, as if the words left his mouth against his will. "When he held us hostage, you had to kick me so that I could get your gun. There was something protruding from the wall, I didn't see what. I was knocked against it, and it cracked one of my ribs. I managed to hide it until we got back to Quantico when I went to a doctor. I didn't even realize it was broken until we were in the air." The entire team looked on in shock, wondering how none of them had noticed he'd broken a rib. Morgan in particular was remembering Reid's reactions to his casual slaps on the back. He had supposed the flinches were due to Reid's aversion to touch, had had no idea they were actually signs of pain.

"Reid, I'm sorry, I had no idea…" Hotch started.

"Hotch, stop it. Foyet's just trying to hold this over you. If it really bothers you, we can deal with that later, but don't show him weakness." The door reopened. "I can take it." At his words, Foyet chuckled and walked closer. Reid closed off his face to his emotions as worry grew in his team's eyes.

"We'll see if you can take it," Foyet promised, amusement still present in his voice. He stepped forwards so that Spencer could see him as well as the screen, and despite himself, Spencer's breath caught in his throat. Foyet was holding a heavy-duty hammer, loose in his hand. "Hotchner can watch somebody else break those fragile ribs now." Spencer immediately felt sickened, but he knew what he had to do.

"Get off the line, Hotch," he demanded in a low voice as Foyet stalked closer menacingly.

"What?" the team demanded. Then came the first swing of the hammer, a scream leaving Spencer's lips as the rib gave under the pressure with a devastating crack.

'It takes 150 pounds of pressure to break a rib.' The thought came to Spencer's mind unbidden. Aloud, he said, "He can do what he wants to me, he'd do it anyway, but you can't-" another scream as the hammer swung again- "you can't be watching. That's what he wants." The team hated it, but he was right. Foyet couldn't _know_ they were watching, at the very least, But they didn't want to leave Spencer alone with him, either.

"Just remember that you're stronger than he is, Reid." It was Hotch who spoke. "He can try, but he can't break you." Spencer met Hotch's eyes and allowed his own to show emotion while Foyet wasn't looking. It broke the team's hearts to see the hopelessness there, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly, glancing at the syringes and wincing. Foyet swung the hammer a third time.

"Go!" he screamed, and the screen went black. Little did Spencer or Foyet know, Garcia had hacked the webcam, and the team sat crowded around the monitors in the office, searching for a clue to Reid's whereabouts as well as monitoring their friend and fellow agent.

"You little…" Foyet growled as the team left the screen. "You shouldn't meddle with my plans…" This time, when the hammer came down, it landed against his lower thigh, just missing shattering his kneecap. Without his team to worry about, the scream Spencer let out reverberated through the room and echoed in his ears. Foyet chuckled.

"Asshole," Spencer ground out, more to make a show of defiance than as evidence of actual thought. The hammer met his stomach again, making him cry out.

"You should be a bit more _respectful_ to your elders." Foyet threw away the hammer, making Spencer want to sigh with relief; it hurt to breathe. Foyet was laughing again. "I think you understand for now…" Without another word, he was gone. When the door slammed, Spencer deflate, shoulders slumping, head hanging low. His breaths were quick and shallow. He jumped and then groaned as it jarred his ribs and leg as the screen flickered to life.

"We're still here, Spencer," Garcia said, her voice shaking. "I back-hacked him and we can see you through the webcam, but you can't see us until we pop up like this." Spencer nodded.

"You shouldn't all have to watch this," he protested, knowing it wouldn't change their minds. As expected, they didn't budge.

"Reid, we're staying with you to whatever end. I'm not taking another case until we get you out of there," Hotch said.

"You're all just going to end up watching me die," he warned them. "He's never going to let me go alive, he wants to torture you, and I was the easy target."

"Foyet doesn't _do_ easy targets," Rossi reminded them. "So why Reid?" Immediately Spencer's eyes darted to the half-open drawer of syringes.

"Oh fuck, I just realized something; I really am going to die in here," Spencer gasped. "The needles and vials he probably had to buy in bulk so that no one realized who he was, but I only see one tourniquet in the drawer. It's possible they're hidden by the side of the drawer, but doubtful. He's not trying to be like Hankel." Spencer looked back at the team from where his eyes were examining the drawer. "Once he gets bored, he's going to make me overdose." He hadn't believed it could happen, but the expressions of his team fell even more.

"We're going to get you out of there, Pretty Boy," Morgan solemnly promised in a voice made of steel. Reid chuckled sadly, shaking his head and gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Don't bother. It's too late. I'm damaged goods anyway. Who knows how long it will be before I make my way back to work? And that's even with me being able to run circles around the people running psych evals…" He glanced at his leg. "Figuratively, of course."

"Reid. We're getting you out of there," Hotch said sternly. Reid sighed shallowly.

"If you insist. Just… If I don't make it, make sure my mother gets taken care of, okay?"

"Spence, you're not going to-"

"Consider it done," Hotch interrupted J.J. She looked shocked and offended that Hotch could consider the possibility, but relaxed when she realized he was only reassuring Spencer.

"Are you tracking the IP Address?" Rossi asked Garcia, who nodded in response.

"Getting an address…" she muttered, typing again. "69 Anderson Road." As soon as the words left her mouth, everyone else was out the door, no doubt on their way. As soon as it was just him and Garcia, Spencer allowed himself to show the exhaustion and pain he was feeling.

"This can still go wrong," he warned. Garcia shook her head.

"Not when it's you at stake, Boy Genius," she argued miserably. For her sake, he made himself smile.

"I love all of you no matter what happens, Garcia," he spoke in a low voice. There were footsteps approaching the door. "He's coming. Go!" Garcia's face left the screen, but Spencer knew she was still watching.

"Did you miss me, _Doctor_?" Foyet greeted mockingly. Spencer simply glared in response. "Well, you've gotten rid of your team, so I guess you could say I've been a bit… _bored…_" Spencer locked his jaw and fought to keep his face neutral. He willed Garcia to shut of the webcam. She shouldn't have to see him die in front of her screen.

"Does that mean you're ready to kill me now, then?" he asked calmly. Foyet grinned.

"You catch on fast," he commented, drifting towards the drawer of syringes. Due to exhaustion and his injuries, Spencer was unable to keep from flinching away as Foyet turned, making the man laugh.

"Looks like I've finally found something to break that faced of yours. I'm going to enjoy this." Spencer sighed and forced his body to relax. It was over soon, one way or another.

"You're a sadist," he said conversationally. "You've been enjoying this since you broke into my apartment." He tried again to put a neutral expression on his face as faint footsteps echoed overhead. His team had arrived, so either he was going to live, or Hotch and the rest were going to suffer as Foyet originally planned.

"Looks like this is getting interesting, huh Doctor?" Foyet said in response to the noise, grinning insanely. He pushed the needle through the top of the vial he held, extending the plunger and allowing Spencer to watch as the syringe filled with clear liquid.

"Interesting isn't the word I'd use to describe it," Spencer growled angrily as Foyet closed in on him, earning himself a fist in the eye. He struggled as Foyet ripped off his sleeve and tied the tourniquet on his left arm. The door flew open just as the knot closed, revealing Hotch and Morgan.

"Down here!" Morgan yelled. Foyet looked delighted that Hotch had been one of those to find him.

"Hello, Hotchner, Morgan. Come to say goodbye to your friend?" Morgan's jaw lacked, and Spencer noticed both his and Hotch's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Morgan, you've always got my back, right?" Hotch asked. Morgan nodded, confused. "Then this was necessary."

"Why-?" Morgan's response was cut off by a gunshot ringing through the room. Reid and Morgan tensed as the bullet flew past Reid's ear, hitting Foyet cleanly in the chest. He was dead before he hit the ground, the needle shattering as it met the floor. Hotch rushed forward and untied Reid, cataloging his injuries with worried eyes. Three broken ribs, broken femur, broken fingers, stab wound, and what would surely be a black eye- in short, Reid was a mess. Hotch helped him out of the basement room and to the stairs before he passed out and he and Morgan had to carry him to the stretcher waiting for him.

'It's going to be okay, Reid,' Hotch thought, keeping himself from speaking aloud with some difficulty. 'It'll be a long road, but you'll be fine.'

"Hotch, why did you shoot Foyet so quickly? Or at least, why a fatal shot?" Morgan asked quietly. Hotch didn't even attempt to avoid the question.

"I couldn't take that chance," he replied truthfully. "Not with Reid."


	2. IMPORTANT

First of all, I'd like to thank everyone for all of the reviews I've gotten on this story! I just randomly jotted this down during math class when I was supposed to be learning, I didn't expect such a positive response! Thanks for the criticism as well- I've gotten some comments about how it was unrealistic how Reid could talk with his injuries. To be honest, since I was only giving this story half of my attention while trying not to get caught not paying attention, I kept forgetting what injuries I had given Reid. I always see stories where he's cowering in fear the moment someone threatens him and I wanted to portray him as more of a badass for once. Obviously, considering I disregarded his injuries and frantically edited them back in when I was typing this up, I screwed up some of his behavior anyway. I didn't even notice until someone pointed it out. Some writer I am… =.=

Also, I'd like to point out the fact that this story was a one-shot. Some people have been saying they're looking forward to updates, but I wanted to make sure that it was clear that there wouldn't be any. This was a snippet that popped into my head and bugged me until I wrote it down. If anyone actually wants to continue this (not that I expect anyone to, it's not exactly the greatest set-up for further plot), I'd have no problem with that as long as you put a link to this story wherever you post it, or credit me, or something. Just let me know so that I don't randomly come across it and wonder if I accidentally took this idea from someone.

I think that's all I had to say. Sorry if I disappointed anyone with the fact that there aren't going to be any updates, and thanks again for the reviews! I love reviews ^.^

I'd thank you all individually, but there were a lot of anonymous reviewers, and I have over 100 emails in my inbox from the time I spent away from . Just know that I did read each review, and they're all appreciated!

Until next time,

~Kira


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